The Final Ballad of the Moon
by BanishedOne
Summary: What if time stopped? What if everything we ever knew halted, in a vortex, unable to go forward, unable to function? What if this limbo drained us of all we ever knew, or loved, or hated? Who would we be at that time? But-why shouldn't everything cease in one perfect moment? What if we had a chance to start over, all in the prison of one perfect moment in time?


_[A/N; hello readers, this is an old story I started on a while back, but I never posted for a few different reasons. However, looking back at it, I honestly find it to be interesting, even though it has the potential to get very confusing. The only thing I really want to say is that the characters in the story are **NOT OCS**, that is all. Also, please tell me what you thought about this chapter, because I'd like to know if it is interesting for you all, or just too complicated. Thank you all, enjoy!]_

::

/...What if time stopped? What if everything we ever knew halted, in a vortex, unable to go forward, unable to function? What if this limbo drained us of all we ever knew, or loved, or hated? Who would we be at that time?

But.. Why shouldn't everything cease in one perfect moment? What would everything mean if it all ends eventually? Why do beautiful things exist, if our knowledge of witnessing and feeling these sensations will all be erased in time? What if we had a chance to start over, all in the prison of one perfect moment in time?.../

::

[..545003000104..]

[Who am I? I forget who I used to be..]

I'm walking through a dark tunnel, completely calm, and aware of my purpose. I feel the cold air. I can smell the scent of dirt emanating from beyond the stone construction of this underground fortress, seeping through the cracks and pores. I do not see anything yet, for my eyes are hazed in the darkness, ill-adjusted. I remember the last few weeks of my life, of laying about, curled in a ball, seeing nothing but darkness, but feeling secure, surrounded in the gentle blanket of my own body heat.

I remember those weeks without the light, seething in my contempt for life, feeding off of it, until the time came for me to sprout from the Earth, like a tiny, germinating plant, ready to soak up the rain and sun, and whatever harshness this world could deal out. I was ready to endure the storms ahead.

I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, blinking away the blurriness, adjusting to my own sense of vision as I felt the warmth of the radiating sun touch my skin, and then, there was a flash of golden light, which waned into silver, and red, and finally, I opened my eyes, as if they had been shut all this time..

I had remembered my weeks without light, my weeks of waiting in the cold, dark shelter that surrounded me, isolating me. I had remembered a purpose in my seclusion, and an overwhelming feeling that was so strong, it was more akin to a physical sensation, burning me from within, and prickling, crawling under my skin, ready to burst from me, if I refused to feed it, but now..

Now that feeling was gone. Now that feeling had ceased to exist.. As if it never had been.

I remember that I spent weeks inside the dark, waiting. But I had a life before all that. My life was difficult, and emotionally straining. My life was very empty, and lonely. My life continued only because I held on to a very singular hope, but was that my purpose now? What was it..?

My life flashed in the back of my mind as I tried to recall. The memories were soundless, and grainy, like an old film, and they left behind a flurry of emotions, reassuring me that I _lived_, I _felt things, _I _knew what my life was_, and _who I was_..

But the more I tried to recall my life, my _self_, the further it faded beyond my visual grasp, leaving those feelings behind, in a puddle within the confines of my empty heart, mixing and melding, leaving me with a confusing concoction that had no relation to me, for I no longer knew myself.

I remember my weeks in the dark. But was it weeks? Or.. Had I always been in the dark? I couldn't remember anything beyond that fatal darkness. There was nothing else but that very darkness before this bright, vivid, nauseating moment.

Falling to my knees upon the dense, grassy earth, I know that I've crumpled into nothing now. I clutch my head, moving my hands down, in an unconscious kind of craze, to my middle, grasping it, sick all over, hurting all over, completely helpless, like a newborn.

I am like a newborn. Before this moment of bursting light, and endless sensation, there was nothing but warmth, and darkness, and the sound of my own heart beating, echoing all around me. And now, I have begun, set to face the world and define myself, even though I know that there is something missing, something wrong..

I know this because I'm _not_ a newborn.

Slowly, I find my feet. My legs are wobbling, as if they haven't been used in such a long time. Still, there is strength; As soon as I come to stand, the strength from within guides me.

The world around me is lovely, caught just between spring and summer; The trees and flowers are all blossoming, and there is a subtle breeze that cools my skin, but the sun is lush and warm, and the air lacks even the slightest trace of cold.

Looking up, I notice the sky; The sun hasn't quite come fully into the sky in order to beam from directly above, bathing our world in the heat of midday. As well, the moon rests neatly, politely on the horizon, having yet to go to rest. The grand, round orb of silver looks tired and heavy as it perches just above the mountainous terrain in the distance, and as I watch it, entranced by how wonderfully detailed its battered surface appears, I wonder why it is that I see it with such marvelous sharpness now? Had I always seen it this way? I can't remember having ever looked at it before, yet I still retain knowledge of what it is, and how it cycles.

In defeat, my eyes trail downward, and I peer at my open palms dejectedly, almost hating myself for my inability to remember myself. Who am I? What is my purpose?

My vision cannot help but flicker up to a trace of black along my wrist. At first it is merely a smudge, like spilled ink, but in the most surreal adjustment of my own ability to visually perceive it, I realize that it is a marking that depicts numerals as they were written in a language I feel was perhaps not my own, but one I still know.

..545003000104..

:: :: ::

/...If time were to halt in a moment of perfection.. Why would any person wish for it to keep moving again? Why would any person actively choose to move on beyond this one moment in time, just to finish a story? Once you get to the end, you're always sad to know it's over.../

:: :: ::

[..0400700000401..]

[Vulx]

I was born a long time ago; that is what we call it when somebody new appears. When somebody new comes into the world, it is called being 'born'. When a person is born, they are a completely blank slate, a new soul, or so that's what some say. Others say that when a person dies, they are reborn as somebody else; This is what some believe, because some people vaguely remember a sensation of 'forgetting a past life' the moment they are born.

I think I believe that as well, but actually, I'm not sure. I don't pretend to know or understand things that can't be explained, but I do feel..-at times..-like something is missing. I feel like there is something important I need to remember, but I never can. The only real conclusion I'm ever able to come to is that I must be remembering something that held a great weight in my mind, on my_ soul_, when once I lived another life.

[If only I could remember my self, the self I feel I've forgotten]

This is why I sit among The Philosophers; they may be a bunch of old lunatics, but their words give my mixed up head some sort of direction. I tell them that I don't believe in the crap they say. I tell them that, but I'm always lying.

In the town of Forgotten Forest, The Philosophers collect and meet in empty old buildings. Many of the buildings in Forgotten Forest are empty and old, aside from houses. These buildings were not constructed by any of the people of Forgotten Forest, and nobody knows why they are here. However, the Philosophers put those empty spaces to use. They meet, and congregate, always coming along to a different location for their public meetings, though only they ever know, with certainty, where these meetings will be. (It's all an effort to avoid the GateKeeper.) Rumors spread here and there around town concerning the meetings of the Philosophers, but now and again, those rumors are false. Only the lucky and the clever people are able to locate the meetings with a higher standard of accuracy.

I'm informed by my doctor, Kush, as to where I can find the meetings of the Philosophers. I once nearly fell ill to what we call 'The Sickness', and it was advised to me by my doctor that I listen to the word of the Philosophers, for guidance..

The building where The Philosophers are meeting tonight is as old as ever. It is dark, and dank, and extremely dusty, so much so that I pull the blue bandana from around my neck up, so that it covers over my nose. I don't want to breathe the foul stench in the air.

Quietly, I locate the benches through the shroud of darkness. The meetings are always dark, so that those who speak cannot be seen, preserving some shred of our identity, though many people who commonly attend the meetings of the Philosophers know each member well by their voice.

Some of my fellows attending the meeting make room without a word, and I take a seat. The wood of the bench creaks beneath my weight, and I feel squished between the bodies of two strangers. There are whispers that I can hear, but it is nothing I can make out; It may only be two people who are talking quietly back and forth, before the meeting starts.

Then, suddenly, a voice that is significantly louder echoes out from somewhere unknown in the darkness. This person sits upon the benches, among those in the crowd, but this person is one of The Philosophers.

"Do you all smell the stench of this old building tonight?"

The crowd chimes out dull noises, affirming that they all, indeed, can smell the must.

"Nobody here remembers this street. None of you have walked down this street before this very night, and even now, none of you stopped to think, 'Have I been here before? I don't think I have.' We all saunter down this forgotten street, to this forgotten building, feeling the sense of familiarity in the back of our minds, even though I can tell you all that you've never ever been here before tonight."

"How do you know?", "I don't feel this place is familiar at all..", "Why are we here?", "This place does smell.."

"None of you have come down this street in Forgotten Forest, because the street was blocked by a fence. The building stands rotting along a deserted street, and none of us even wonder why that is. Who blocked off this street? And why?"

"Because this place reeks, that's why!," I holler out with vigor, chuckling to myself sarcastically.

"In fact, that may be the answer," responds the speaking philosopher, agreeing to my obnoxious suggestion, "We live in a world where nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect. The unpleasant scent of rotting wood is just another one of those sensory details that simply isn't allowed to be perceived by any of us."

"What do you mean, 'not allowed'", "Perfect?", "Nothing wrong?", "What is perfect? What is imperfect?", people chatter all around.

"Perfect," says the philosopher speaking, "Our world is perfect because there is no such thing as pain, suffering, or death. And 'unpleasant' things, we are deterred from ever experiencing. Just as much, we are deterred from experiencing pleasant things, and so we all remain so docile, so humble, without a want or a need."

Suddenly, a different member of The Philosophers speaks up, "Has anybody here ever had sex?"

A dull roar of whispers echo from all present. Each person seems to look to the man or woman next to them, as if in search of answers that a rare few actually have. Finally, a curious individual speaks up, "What _is_ sex?"

"Sex is an unspeakable, pointless action that serves absolutely no purpose."

"That is where you are wrong," somebody else calls out. At this point, it is uncertain as to whether the philosophers are speaking, or if people in the crowd are simply conversing aloud. I merely listen, honestly wondering what this 'sex' is, myself.

"Sex is something pleasant, physically and emotionally. Most of you can't even describe a single pleasant experience, let alone sex."

"Emotional attachment is just a form of mental disorder, so any physical form of it must be terrible."

"Emotional attachment is a selfish, forbidden action. Those who suffer this disease will have their memories erased by the Gatekeeper, to cure them."

There is a significant amount of gasps, along with an equal amount of nervous shuffling. 'The Gatekeeper', is somebody that not many of us like to mention in this manner. It is just another unpleasant occurrence, and we, obviously, are not accustomed to such.

"There's no point in any of this, the attachment, the physical pleasure, or the sex.. Whatever you call it."

"There may have once been a point to 'sex'," finally, a philosopher cuts into the noise and commotion, "Few of us experience it now, and for those of us who have, indeed, nothing comes from it."

"Where is this going?"

"Perhaps this is enough for tonight," another one of the philosophers speaks, in closure, "We wish to let you all think on the topics we've mentioned so far. If we speak too much, then the original point will be diluted."

:: ::

[..0404501047403..]

[Heize]

There is a feeling of something missing, a feeling that something is wrong, and I cannot remember. A distant paranoia that one simply can never recall, slowly driving us all mad. Prescribed to me by the town doctor, Kush, a kind of therapy called 'sleep'.

'During the hours of night, not necessarily at first moon, but before midnight, find a comfortable place to lay prone, close your eyes, and simply allow your mind to slip into a calm state, and remain this way until first sun.'

She means well, but this kind of inactivity rarely allows me any calm. She explains that this is meant to cause a shift in my thought waves, and her apparent studies have shown some unusual results. The only results I've had are these bizarre flashes that I can't even recall well enough to make anything of.

Frustration- I continue my sleep therapy out of pure intrigue, but I often feel it only has served to rattle the uncertainty in my heart that much more. I make notes of my experiences when I 'wake up', writing today, 'I find sorrow in the depths of my mind that I've knowingly felt ever since my birth, but cannot explain. I am missing something, perhaps someone, but I've scrutinized my possessions and social relations, to the point I am certain nothing is gone.'

I water the peonies and eggplants growing on the outer deck of my apartment before I dress myself for the day and set out for a morning stroll. Why do I grow flowers and food in this manner when there is no need? Because the notion that these things can be created by placing seeds into dirt and pouring water overtop, then leaving them in the sun, intrigues me. Why can they be created in this manner, when the final product can always be picked up at any given consumiary?

These questions led me to become part of The Philosophers. No, we do not have all the answers, but we appear to be the ones with all the most dire questions. Our questions, when shared, stir the minds of others, and that is why we do what we do. Because we seek the answers, we seek the truth, despite how we run the risk of angering The Gatekeeper.

No- we do not even know why it is our questions anger the Gatekeeper, we simply know it is fact.

I shut the door behind me as I set out down the street. The sun in the morning is vibrant, as it is every morning, and seemingly more golden than anything else you could possibly imagine. It is lovely, without a doubt, though my eyes are still sensitive from the 'sleep'.

It is barely down the block that I encounter a person of the Stage-H appearance, who I'm aware is designation female, as I've met her before. She is a very routine person. [Stage-H being a classification for her appearance, in the sense that she possesses a body that is fully grown and matured, but that appears outwardly roughened. Her back is slightly hunched and her skin is heavily furrowed.]

"Hello there," I politely greet her as we fall in line and walk side by side, headed in the same direction.

"Hello again, Heize," she greets and laughs in gentle amusement, "you're as routine a soul as I. Off to visit that empty lot that intrigues you so much?"

"Yeah, you know me," I agree, humble and a little embarrassed that my quirks are so obvious, "and you're off to the consumiary to pick up food?"

A gritty laugh and she nods her head to me, "You know me just as well. Yeah, I'm gonna throw some fresh ingredients together and prepare a meal. Probably more than I can eat myself, so you're welcome to drop by, if you'd like."

"Even though you could easily just go out for a meal at any one of our instant meal eateries, you always prepare food on your own every night," now it is my turn to chuckle at the quirks of another, though I personally enjoy quirks, "You're a peculiar spirit, but I'd gladly stop by. I can't place why, but the meals you prepare by hand are much tastier than the eatery meals."

"Oh, such a flatterer you are, Heize."

"If you'd like, when I come by, I could bring along some flowers and eggplants. These are special, because they didn't come from the consumiary. I made these by myself, in my apartment."

The lady gasped and 'ohhh'ed' in wonderment, then spoke, "You're quite a magician. Making my own meals isn't nearly as impressive as creating ingredients. So clever."

"It honestly wasn't that difficult," I say in a playfully dismissive tone, "well, this is where I turn. I'll see you later."

The rest of my walk is a quiet, yet peaceful one. It seems that every day I live in Forgotten Forest, I see something new that I had never noticed before. Being alone to ponder helps my mind reach out and see these things. Being alone with my own messed up head helps me get in touch with those bizarre feelings I could never explain.

Soon, my peaceful walk became one of apprehension. As I near my destination, I find that its effects on me have become a source of nervousness, and of course, I don't know why. I take a deep breath and let it slowly out as I come upon my destination- an open field, nothing more. The grasses are overgrown, the undergrowth dense and rich green, while the older grasses swaying about are yellowed and dry. Wildflowers sprinkle the area among thick patches of clover and vines that looked as though they may one day take over.

I took a few steps into the empty lot, something inside me quivering at the feel of the ground beneath my sandals. Every inch of me knew some hidden truth about this place, every inch but the ones that truly mattered.

This place was insignificant in every way- that was what seemed to be the reality of it. And perhaps that much was true. But as I stand here, those feelings buried deep inside are there, rustling up from the depths, wanting to make themselves known to me. I can feel them as they are magnified, and desperately I try to get in touch with them.

"You always seem to come here Heize. Why is that?," a voice calls, disturbing the stillness of my mind.

I turn to see who this voice belongs to, though I am afraid I already know the answer. My coal-black eyes are raised slowly to look upon the other person standing near, and my suspicions are confirmed. It is Nohb'dy, who is something of a town holy man, though most people either openly love him or secretly feel discomforted by his presence, myself being one of the latter.

He just stands there smiling, cloaked in silvery garments that seem to catch the breeze and flutter infinitely. His smoldering eyes bore into mine as my answer does not come immediately, and I hope that my silence speaks my displeasure.

The way he addresses me, as well- he speaks with such a degree of familiarity, as though I were his closest friend. I can't help but be irritated.

"This place awakens things inside of me that I long to understand. That is all," I relent and answer, hoping he'll stop giving me that warm expression. A man who lives to abide by the Gatekeeper's laws, the Gatekeeper who longs to protect all of humanity, yet spurns their inherent curiosity by taking away their lives, could never be a friend of mine. Perhaps, though, he has realized that I am a Philosopher, and is merely acting on pretense as he investigates me?

"The feelings you speak of.. They trouble you," he speaks as though out of true concern, "why would you wish to torture yourself? The day is beautiful-"

"The day is always beautiful, as is the night," I cut in, "why would that be a reason to celebrate?"

He just shrugs, still smiling, and says, "Why wouldn't it? Just because something remains beautiful doesn't mean you celebrate it less."

"I, for one, agree with that statement," comes the voice of another passerby, though this calm, keen voice is familiar in a way I can appreciate. It comes from a person by the name of Crimson, who happened to catch part of the conversation and spoke up, in passing. That person's commentary is one I typically enjoy, though today Crimson pretends to oppose me, in that playful way, and I pretend it is always so between us.

"You would," I offer in a snide but good-humored tone, smiling secretly to myself. "Where are you off to?"

"I am off to speak with Kush. She has need of something I've recently put together,"

"Oh, the herbs you two obsess over?," I ask

"Yes, indeed."

"Alright then," I wave Crimson off, returning my attention to the other man in a manner that is deliberately slow, as he has refused to leave me be. "As I was saying," I continue, "the way you speak of something that is always beautiful, you speak as though it were something scarce, something to be seized, when indeed, it is not."

The man merely maintained a warm expression, chuckling and patting me upon the shoulder. "You overthink things. That's your problem, you're always overthinking things. Instead of isolating yourself as you do, you should spend time with friends."

"I have no friends," I answer coldly, "you speak as though I do, as though I do and you know I do."

"You do," replied the man knowingly, "I am your friend. You could join me for the first sun meal of the day, if you have nothing else to do."

I sigh in great exasperation, wishing I could shush my brain as it whispered to me, that this could finally be a chance to either shake Nohb'dy, or else discover the meaning behind his fixation. "Fine," I groan.

::

[..540004040000..]

[Clover]

I had come here to pay a visit to my doctor and mentor, Kush. Once, I fell ill with 'The Sickness' and was bedridden for days. I vaguely remember what it was like; my mind slipped in and out of reality, and I'm told that my breath was so light, it seemed so fatally close to ceasing. I came so close to losing my life at that time.

Now, since my life was saved, it's a life that is filled with hope and purpose- I wish to become a doctor and rid the world of this terrible plague. That dream, as it is, seems a far off reality, however, as hardly anybody really understands what causes The Sickness and why.

I swear, though, the day will come when I understand it. Until then, I do what little I can, searching for those windows of opportunity that may inevitably lead me to my greatest goal.

My mentor, Kush, is also the only doctor in town that has had any success in fighting off that horrid plague, which was why I made it a point to aid her in any way I can, to learn from her.

As I quietly approached Kush's office, I could hear the distinct sound of voices and conversation, which wasn't unusual, since Kush was typically a busy woman. I only found myself freezing in apprehension when I unintentionally overheard an utterance of the phrase 'the next meeting', in what sounded like a hushed and secretive tone. It was clearly not the kind of tone Kush typically spoke in, when addressing her patients, or even her associates. She was a cheerful and boisterous person, even in times of seriousness.

Until now, I didn't believe Kush even had any reason to be secretive.

I found myself suddenly pondering the notion that I could be interrupting something I was not meant to, or hearing things I was not meant to, and such a thought was jarring in my mind. Quickly, I had to decide whether to pretend I had simply heard nothing at all, or else turn tail and come back at a later time.

Could Kush really be part of that trouble-making gang called The Philosophers?

Fearing that Kush and her company could possibly finish speaking and exit the office to find me out here eavesdropping, I took a deep breath and made my way into her office. I just knew I must have had this terribly apprehensive look on my face, but I hoped I wasn't giving myself away so easily.

"Hello," I spoke, making my presence known, "I'm sorry to interrupt."

I was very quickly acknowledged by Kush as I appeared in her doorway, as well as by the person she had been meeting with; that person was of rather short height, and wearing a very modest, concealing, brown garment. As they looked at me, I felt I could see a certain trace of melancholy in their features. Perhaps this was just another patient after all, given such an appearance, and I had been overreacting? I knew I had certainly never met this person before, and my understanding was that the Philosophers only existed here in Forgotten Forest.

"No, it's alright," Kush replied, her tone light and not too serious, "This is my fault. I lost track of time while speaking to my friend here. Clover, this is Crimson, designation unknown."

"Nice to meet you," I bowed politely, receiving a gentle nod of the head in return, "I am Clover, designation female." Quickly getting to business, I looked to my mentor, and spoke, "I won't take up too much of your time. You mentioned a list of supplies required in Forgotten Desert?"

"Yes," she answered in a tone that made it seem as though she had just remembered, "it seems that there happens to be some species of herbs available here that are not available there," as she spoke, she began to look for her list, as disorganized as always, "It is an inconvenience, but I need somebody I can trust to take them there. Just pick them up from the consumiary."

"No... I'm sorry, um..," I uttered, a little confused by the word Kush had used, "inconvenience?"

Kush blinked, but smiled knowingly, and explained,"...it means that something is bothersome, or that it is a waste of your time. You, yourself said that you didn't wish to take up too much of my time, because you didn't wish to be an inconvenience."

To such an explanation, I laughed, a little embarrassed, "Well, I simply meant because you are with somebody. You have things to do. Me? I struggle to find things to do. There is no 'inconvenience' in my world," I reassured my mentor in a sunny tone, batting a hand to dismiss her concerns. I felt a little silly for having been so worried before- Kush was as she had always been. How could I have thought she was a Philosopher?

"..if I may interrupt-," the stranger suddenly spoke up in a voice that was politely soft, but a bit devoid of emotion, "you realize I will be traveling back to the Forgotten Desert myself. I could easily take the herbs myself, if you wished it so."

"That's very kind of you, Crimson," Kush replied, "..but Clover here has been talking about her desire to travel to another land for some time. I think she is likely overjoyed at the opportunity."

"Then, perhaps I can act as a guide to her? I certainly do not mind," he spoke, turning soft, brown eyes at last to me, "if you would like that, of course."

"...oh, well sure," I easily agreed, not wishing to be rude. Something about Crimson's appearance also gave me a feeling that such a person was a very gentle soul, and somewhere in the back of my mind, there was suddenly this unusual sense of familiarity, "some company wouldn't hurt. In fact.. I hadn't planned on setting out until tomorrow, and I was wracking my brain for something to occupy my night hours, until then. It would be nice if we could become more acquainted... unless, of course, you and Kush have other plans."

"No, my night hours are also free," Crimson assured.

Smiling and nodding, I spoke decisively, "then how does the Moon's Eye Eatery sound?"

"That sounds quite alright to me," Crimson agreed.

"Then I shall see you there at first moon?"

"Indeed you shall."

"Great," I smiled and bowed, uttering, "may the Gatekeeper watch over you both," then excused myself.

::

[..0400700000401..]

[Vulx]

I'm only really thinking about my stomach. Hunger is a thing that strikes all people, obviously, but when it strikes me, I'm all too happy to appease it. Hell, food is one of the best indulgences our world has to offer, and one of the only ones as far as I'm concerned.

Honestly, my life is boring. I spend most days wandering around, talking, staring at the sky and thinking about those feelings deep inside, wondering if I was ever important, if I ever had anything important to do. It must have been better then than it was now, because everything about my life was so.. empty now.

Most people have things that interest them, things to entertain their thoughts, but I didn't have much of shit. Just food. And maybe.. Well, I was still curious about that thing I heard about from the Philosophers. Sex? I hadn't a clue what such a thing was! Maybe if I did, I could try it, just to have something to do.

Lost in thought, and wandering about, suddenly I felt something jarring deep inside myself. It was this unusual surge of emotion, similar to the ones I often got, but stronger. It left my head kinda reeling, and I rubbed a single hand through my hair, pushing my fingerpads against my skull to dull the sensation. Then, as I tried to regain some sense of focus, a little fearful that I could suddenly succumb to The Sickness again and never wake up, I found myself staring straight ahead and laying eyes on this weird person, just standing in the middle of the street.

Had they felt that weird feeling too?

"Hey, pal!," I hollered at the other person. They still seemed a little dazed, because their head turned to me very slowly, and I was given this look as though I weren't even really here, but maybe a mirage? "Buddy, you okay?," I asked, taking a few more steps toward the other person.

"Hey," I said again, having not gotten any response yet, "I'm Vulx, designation male. I wanted to ask you if you felt anything strange while you were walking around over here?"

"Vulx?," the other person spoke in a voice that was so empty, "...I-I'm sorry.. What's Vulx?"

"Huh?" I sputtered, utterly confused, "Vulx is my name! Who are you?"

"I..," the other person began, thought clear to see in his expression, "I..don't know."

Suddenly, I understood what was going on, and every fibre of my being trembled, because even though I knew, theoretically, what any good person was supposed to do in this kind of situation, it had never happened to me before and because of that, my thoughts were in a hundred different places at once, and none of it made any sense.

"Gatekeeper's shit," I swore, "you're a newborn. Shit, shit, okay, don't worry pal. I'll get everything sorted out for you."

"Whose the Gatekeeper?," the newborn asked in a quiet, curious tone, to which I chuckled nervously.

"The Gatekeeper is the one who creates us. The Gatekeeper decides who is born into this world and supposedly looks after us. I'm not the best person to ask about it, honestly." There came even more nervous laughter from me, and I reached out to take the newborn's hand, leading them to where I knew they needed to go. "But, I'll still try to answer any question you have.. Cause' you're a newborn, and since I found you, you're my little brother now."

"...brother?," the newborn seemed to state with uncertainty.

"That's right! Brother!," I answered, grinning from ear to ear. Hey, the way I saw it, I had been inwardly begging for some excitement, and here it was, just for me. I was a brother.

::

TBC


End file.
